


Show me how you do it

by liesmyth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Leitner Books (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Canon, attempted shoplifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26816953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: Jon is fifteen and awkward, Gerry wears leather boots and a leather jacket and his nails are painted black. And they both agree on one thing: books are dangerous things.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 165
Collections: Remix Revival 2020





	Show me how you do it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prodigy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigy/gifts).



At fifteen, Jon thought he was too old to be seen around shopping with his grandmother, but he certainly wasn’t too old to say no when she offered to pay for it. It was a Saturday morning; grandma kissed him on the cheek as she slipped a twenty pounds note in his hand, and then she was off to get her hair done, and Jon was left alone with the promise of a whole bright morning spent doing absolutely nothing at all.

Naturally, he went to the book shop. There were four of them in Bournemouth, not counting the charity shops that sold secondhand clothes and assorted knickknacks as well as old paperbacks, and Jon knew them all. The one he walked into was called _World Of Words_ ; there was the best-seller pile in the corner, the sci-fi section next to old Russian classics for some reason, and a strange boy dressed all in black skulking in the back.

The latter was noteworthy. Bournemouth was a small town and it wasn’t tourist season, and Jon thought he knew at least on sight everyone near his age in town. He was sure he’d never seen this boy before – he certainly wasn’t the sort who’d pass by unnoticed, with his straight dark hair and big boots and silver chains dangling around his neck. His shirt said RIDE THE LIGHTING. Jon stared and stared until he saw the boy turn to stare back; then he was quick to look away, face heating, and went to browse among the secondhand stacks.

Ten minutes later, he heard the beginning of a commotion. That was noteworthy, too – Mrs Harrison, who ran the shop, was both mild-mannered and kind, and Jon didn’t think he’d heard her so much as raise her voice in his life. But she was shouting now, high-pitched and shrill.

“...call the police,” she was saying. “You get out of here now, young man, and if I see you around my shop again…”

Jon went to investigate, clutching his bag close to his chest. Mrs Harrison’s cheeks were red and she was drawing herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much, and staring at the black-clad boy like she hoped her looks might kill him. Between them there was a book, thick and spotted with age, the leather cover nearly falling apart.

“Well? Off with you!”

The boy shrugged. Then he noticed Jon looking, and his lips curled into a big feckless grin. Nothing about this long-haired wannabe thief should’ve been attractive, but that broad smile somehow intrigued Jon to the core.

Then the boy left, leaving the book behind.

“Can I see?” Jon asked, and he barely waited for Mrs Harrison’s nod before he scurried to look at the book. Calling it ‘old’ would be an exaggeration – the book looked like it was barely held together by old thread and stained leather, like it should belong in somebody’s dusty attic or maybe in a museum. The title on the cover was something in Latin, barely readable. There was a sticker on it marking it for seventy-five pence, which Jon thought was wildly overpriced considering the state it was in.

“What _is_ it?”

“Oh, I’ve no idea,” Mrs Harrison said. “I think it might have been in a box someone brought two weeks ago. Half of it was children’s books from the sixties and half of it was rubbish.” Her lips pursed. “If he’d asked I would’ve given it for free. But it’s the principle of the thing – he was trying to hide it under his shirt _like a thief_ , and let me tell you, if you let that sort get away with it once…”

Jon waited, patiently, as Mrs Harrison explained to him in great details how she felt about boys who wore nail polish and pins on their shirts _like some sort of punk_ , looking like bad news. The entire time Jon kept throwing glances at the offending book still on the counter, feeling a strange sort of pull, and when Mrs Harrison paused to take a breath he blurted out. “Can I buy it?”

She blinked. “This one? You’re sure?”

Jon shrugged. “Looks cool. And… these, too.” He spread the contents of his paper bag on the counter. Three battered old paperbacks, enough to last him the week.

The total came up to five-fifty; Mrs Harrison smiled as she put his new purchases in a bag and told Jon to say to his grandma when he got home. Jon nodded and waved goodbye, every inch a good respectful young man, not at all like the almost-thief with his black leather jacket and painted nails.

When he left the shop, the boy was waiting for him.

“You should give me that book,” he said. It wasn’t unfriendly – there was a certain softness to his voice that was at odds with the way he presented himself, all goth looks and dark fingers falling into his eyes. Still, Jon had plenty of experience getting into spats with other boys who wanted things he had, not because they needed them but just because it was fun. He clutched the bag to his chest.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then, if you open that book and read it, you won’t be able to stop reading it at all. You will forget to eat, to drink and to sleep. You will pour all your heart and soul into those pages and forget who you are. You will pass out and they will find you next to the book and take you to the hospital, but by then it will be too late.”

It wasn’t the answer Jon had been expecting.

“What, really?”

“Of course,” the boy said. “Of course, you aren’t going to believe me, but trust me when I say I know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen many books like that.” He kept looking at Jon like he expected him to run away screaming any second. “My mother has a book with pages made of human skin. She binds people’s souls to it. Books are dangerous things.”

Jon said, “Are you trying to scare me?”

“Maybe,” the boy said. “What, do you actually believe me? ‘Cos that’d be a first.”

“Maybe.” Jon thought of the book he’d had when he was a child, the one that other boy had snatched him away. His name had been… Geordie or Charlie, or something. He was dead now, anyway. It had been almost ten years and Jon couldn’t remember the name anymore, but he remembered the spider.

“Let’s say I believe you.” He jutted his chin out. “What were you gonna do with it? How do you know about this at all?”

“My mum. She has a store…. she sends me out for errands sometimes.” And then he held out his hand. “I’m Gerry, by the way. Gerry Keay.”

It was such a polite, adult gesture. Jon wanted to laugh. He took the boy’s offered hand warily. “I’m Jon,” he said. “You could’ve just bought the book, you know? It was seventy-five pence.”

Gerry grinned. It was the same smile he’d had inside the shop, the one that should have looked dumb but only Jon feel all out of sorts.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?”

Jon, resolutely, did not blush. Or tried to, anyway. He could feel the heat creep up his neck; he looked away, even though it changed nothing.

“If I give you the book,” he said. “ _If_. Can you show me what you’re gonna do with it? I want...” He thought again of the spider, the strange house with the small round door he’d never been able to find again. “I want to learn things. I have questions.”

Gerry looked at him, really looked at him, up and down, and this time Jon stared right back, stubborn and defiant.

“Well?”

“Alright,” Gerry said. He looked, Jon fancied, maybe the slightest bit impressed. “Alright, sure. If you want.” And then he said. “Do you have anywhere to go? I was just gonna….” He mumbled something that made clear he hadn’t given much thought to his plans for the day.

“My grandma’s out for the whole day,” Jon offered. He’d never invited anyone home, ever; it seemed unbelievable that now he was asking this strange boy he’d only just met to come to look at a cursed book at his grandmother’s kitchen table. And yet, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“If you want,” Jon added, so fast it came out in a mumble. He felt almost afraid he’d overstepped, but Gerry grinned down at him good-natured and just a bit shy.

“I’d like that,” he said. “Come on. Lead the way.”


End file.
